Bothered and Bewildered

I've met somebody at long last who interests me. He and I share so much. Every time I talk to him, I find another thing to marvel over. He's smart and enjoys knowing and learning. He actually reads, and more than that, he likes poetry. To be perfectly honest, most men I know who can talk to me about books or poetry are either my married and ancient literature professors or "playing for the other team." He's been places. He's seen other things. He's brave, he's honest, he's open about things, and he's passionate about what he cares for. He's the kind of man that I thought didn't exist anymore.

Of course, he is also my good friend, and he is no more attracted to me than one of those professors who "play for the other team" would be. I'm glad he's my friend. I'm glad to know that there is a man like him somewhere in the world. While I think it's doubtful, maybe if there's one, somewhere there's another. While I wish he'd look at me and see me as more than just a friend, I'm used to men not seeing more than that. I guess I should just look at as a good thing that finally my heart has been moved again.